Chapter Text
They had been through so much. They had seen the destruction of the world and of each other, over and over again. Nothing was ever really mended, no one was ever truly saved. That was why, above all other things, something that should be so simple was so devastatingly complicated. Romantic encounters didn't seem to matter on a grand scale. There were more important things: family, friendships—keeping friends alive is hard for hunters. When Dean finally found someone who trusted him and would stand by him, and was nearly indestructible, the thought of losing that person became unbearable.
Sam was Dean's responsibility, but Castiel shared that connection with Dean—something that was part divinity, part damnation, and undeniably real. He was attracted to Amara, yes, and couldn't stand to hurt her, but it was all just another curse, supernatural mumbo jumbo. This too would pass, if the Winchesters had anything to do with it. That was another thing: the Winchesters. Dean wasn't sure exactly when Cas had crossed that line into being 'family' too, but it seemed like a long time ago.
When they were finally reunited, after the latest round in a series of cataclysmic events, Dean and Castiel stood together. They faced each other, inches apart, battered and broken, just taking in the sight of each other, the feeling of being in one another's presence again. It wasn't easy, but it was unavoidable. As they watched each other, a wave of exhaustion overtook each of them. They collapsed into each other. It was a subtle movement, despite it's weight. They leaned together, foreheads touching, and Dean clasped Castiel's shoulders. Castiel sank just that little bit, the stress in his shoulders ebbing under Dean's hold. Cas reached up to wrap his fingers over Dean's forearms.
“Hello, Dean.” Cas's voice was rough, tired.
“Shit, Cas,” Dean muttered. He was all out of fight.
They could have stood like that until the end of time, and it might have been enough, but something had shifted. The Darkness was gone. Lucifer was gone. Cas was worn down, used—but he was safe, and somehow they would recover, just as they always did. Still, there was a void. Honesty was often sacrificed for safety. As each of them had well discovered, the road to hell was paved with good intentions and poor execution. It was about time they crossed that bridge.
Against all odds, Dean went for it. As soon as he made the decision and started moving, in that split second, he started to doubt. It was probably the wrong time. It definitely wasn't a safe call. They were standing in the aftermath of another almost-apocalypse, in the middle point between fighting for their lives and being able to breathe. Either this was going to be okay, or it was going to be just another bruise to recover from. Maybe it was the right thing to do. Maybe it wasn't. Both options were risky.
Dean tilted his head just that little way, never entirely interrupting the contact between his and Castiel's skin, and kissed him. The kiss itself was fairly noncommittal. It was definite and intentional, but with all of Dean's doubt, he held back beyond just having that contact. His eyes were on Cas's blood-smeared cheek, the side of his nose, not wanting to look, but not wanting to lose sight of him in case this went poorly.
Castiel was not surprised, although he hadn't expected it. When he felt Dean's nose brush against his, he let it happen, maybe more out of a tired fascination than desire. Even though Dean's kiss was somewhat flat, tender but lacking in depth, Castiel could feel everything that Dean was still trying to hide. He could sense it. In close proximity, it was easy enough for Cas to get lost in Dean's essence, his longing and determination, and all of the things that made Dean who he was. Cas could sense it all, despite Dean's hesitance to let him.
Cas leaned into the kiss before Dean could scare himself away. He was no more fierce or passionate than Dean had been, but he reciprocated, tilting his nose a little bit more firmly into Dean's cheek and tightening his grasp on Dean's arms. He relaxed into it, in the calm way of people who are better at just experiencing a single moment as it happens to them.
Dean slumped. His shoulders dropped and his chest caved. He broke away, letting out the breath he had been holding. Dean's hands shifted toward Castiel's neck, his thumbs tentatively resting near Cas's jaw. Castiel let him have his moment, expecting that to be the end of it, but Dean kissed him again.
It would be wrong to say that Dean didn't hold back this time, but he did let go of a little more than he was really comfortable with. Castiel accepted everything Dean had to offer him, and everything that he didn't. He was drowning in that sixth sense, the one that attuned him so well to Dean, and Cas let it all wash over him, through him. He felt more at peace than he had in a long time.
When it was over, Dean tried to reign himself in again. He looked embarrassed, maybe a little frustrated with himself. He took an uncertain step back, but Castiel held firm.
“Dean,” he rasped quietly.
Dean shook himself a little, uncomfortable in his own skin. Then he nodded.
“Lets get out of here,” he said.
When the two of them climbed into the Impala, Sam gave them a curious, raised-eyebrows look. It was half-hearted, exhausted, and generally accepting. He just had to show Dean he knew, and that it was fine. Castiel gave Sam an equally placid nod, and the three rode in silence back to the bunker.
Sam climbed out of the car, and once the door closed, Dean turned in his seat. “Cas...”
Castiel reached around the seat to squeeze his shoulder. “I know, Dean.”
. . .